


Wake Up, Fatass

by Chubstilinski



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Belly Kink, Chubby Kink, Emissary Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Masturbation, Pre-Slash, Weight Gain, Woke Up Fat, alpha!Derek, but i had to ok, but it's only vaguely slashy lbr, chubby teen wolf, chubby!Jackson, chubby!Stiles, emissary in training more like, even for a masturbation fic, fat!Jackson, h8 ship 5eva, i am incapable of making things gen apparently, it's mostly implied, kind of, magical weight gain, pre-slash might even be an overstatement, tight clothes, werewolf!jackson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-06
Updated: 2013-12-06
Packaged: 2018-01-03 16:24:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1072633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chubstilinski/pseuds/Chubstilinski
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jackson woke up over a hundred pounds heavier than he had been the night before. After he figured out why, after the initial panic settled, Jackson explored his temporary body.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wake Up, Fatass

**Author's Note:**

> This is for my darling hiidenuhma, who prompted this on the Chubby!Teen Wolf Kink Meme <3

Jackson woke up groggy, unfocused, limbs leaden and pinned to the mattress by strange exhaustion. It wasn't that he was a morning person, exactly; he just always exercised his morning routine with the same self-discipline he utilized in every other aspect of his life.

Today that seemed impossible. He cracked an eye open to take in the streaming of early morning sunlight across his bedroom ceiling and smelled something strange and electric permeating his sheets. 

Something was wrong.

It was an intuitive sense, rather than anything specific, but once Jackson started cataloging his surroundings, he realized his hand was resting against something big and soft rather than his hard, flat abs. 

His eyes opened wide and he sat up, filled with dread, head and body protesting the movement and his hands went to his middle. Jackson's heart was beating so loud it was the only thing he could hear and he felt suddenly dizzy, detached. 

Was he himself? Did he wake up as someone else? Some _thing_ else? Irrational, panicked thoughts flooded his mind as he flew off the bed and ran for his floor to ceiling mirror. 

What he saw shocked and nauseated him to his core. 

His face was his own, but grotesquely bloated, like his body, flabby with layers of fat. He had to easily be a hundred, a hundred fifty pounds heavier than yesterday and his eyes reflected back at him, cold blue with fear.

But _how_? How had this _happened_?

With sudden, rushing clarity, Jackson knew the only plausible explanation was one of those _losers_ had done something. He didn't know what, or how, or why, but he was _sure_ it was all. Their. Fault. And whether this was their idea of a sick joke or they had just done something completely idiotic again, he didn't care. Blind, seething rage consumed Jackson whole.

He called Derek first. "Did you have anything to do with this, Hale, because I swear to god if you did I will-"

"Jackson, what the hell are you talking about."

He couldn't say it, so he was evasive. "What were you doing last night, Derek?"

"Reading."

"Reading? Are you sure you weren't out gallivanting with any werewolf freaks? Maybe stumbled onto some witches or a sacred Indian burial ground or any of the _moronic_ things you do?"

"That's no way to talk to your alpha, Jackson.”

Jackson growled, low and frustrated.

“No, I was _reading_. Why, what happened?"

" _Nothing_ , I'll figure it out."

"Jackson, _tell me what happened_."

"What about McCall? What was he doing last night?"

"I have _no idea_. Why don't you ask him."

"Fine."

Scott let his phone ring, and ring, and seething rage boiled inside of Jackson in the time it took for him to answer. When he picked up the phone, Jackson didn't wait for a greeting before he growled, "What were you doing last night, McCall."

"Uhh, I was with Allison. Why, did I miss something?"

" _No_ , not unless you mean me getting fucking _cursed_."

"Dude. Are you okay?"

"Peachy. McCall, if this is your idea of a prank, I swear you'll _regret it till the day you die_ ," Jackson growled.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, man! Maybe you should ask Stiles; I know he was working on some... Homework last night."

"I fail to see how Stilinski's fucking book report affects me _at all_."

"No, dude. Like, Deaton homework. You know, emissary stuff."

"Fuck." Jackson started pacing his room, feeling his new flesh ripple around him. In his panicked state, it made him shiver with... Revulsion. 

"Are you in danger? Do you need help?"

Jackson sighed, voice quieted, "No, I'm fine, Scott."

"Are you sure? You sound pretty wound up."

" _Yes_ , I'm fine."

"Call Stiles. Let me know if you need help."

Somehow Scott's concern only made him more anxious, and a little guilty, and a lot angry. Jackson hung up the phone without another word. He tried to reign in his panic enough to call Stiles. It was at least a couple of minutes before he could bring himself to do it.

Stiles’s phone rang only once until he answered with a confused, "Yeah?"

"You wouldn't have happened to have practiced any of Deaton's bullshit magic last night, would you," he spat.

"Pff, no? Of course not, why would you ask me that oh my god did what did Scott say? Did something happen? Did I make something happen?!"

" _Stiles_. What. Did. You. Do."

"Ummm. Yeah, about that-"

"What the hell did you do, Stilinski?!"

"I may have done a teensy little spell, why, did it work? Oh my god, that's _awesom_ e!"

"I'm gonna rip you apart if you don't-"

"Okay! Right, totally not awesome."

Jackson took a deep, calming breath. "What was the spell."

"I donno, dude, it was just supposed to be for 'abundance' or some shit like I honestly didn't think it would even do anything. What did it do? It can't have been anything major, right? Why the hell are you so pissed at me? I thought abundance meant like, money."

Jackson was silent. Didn't want to answer, couldn't put into words, couldn't face it. 

Stiles sighed. "Look, Jackson, I can't help you if I don't even know what happened, so you need to-"

"I got. I'm."

"What?"

"Fat. I got _fat_."

Jackson's face burned with shame, muscles clenched tight, waiting for the laughter that was sure to follow.

There was a long beat of silence on the other end, enough so it ratcheted Jackson's anxiety up another point.

"Did you ever stop to think maybe you had this coming for making fun of me for the weight I gained freshman year? Just a thought."

" _Stiles_."

"Relax, dude. I bet you're still infuriatingly good looking. Anyway it'll wear off. Probably."

"Probably?!"

"I'll look into it."

"Stiles if you don't fix this I swear to god I'll-"

"Yeah, yeah, threats, I got it. Look, let me look some shit up, I'll come over later and-"

" _No_."

"Don't be ridiculous, Jackson. Why, are you afraid I'll make fun of you? Call you a _fatass_ , like you did to me?"

Jackson's pulse jumped. " _Stiles_."

"I'll be as nice as I'm physically capable of being to you. Promise."

"Fine, just hurry the fuck up, Stiles."

"Yes, sir, right away, sir. I'll try to keep everyone off your back, too. Both Derek _and_ Scott already texted me wondering what the hell was wrong with you, as if I'd fucking know... Call me if anything else happens, okay?"

"Anything _else_?"

"I mean, not that I _expect_ anything else, it just doesn't hurt to, you know, be prepared for the worst."

"This _is_ the worst."

"Oh my god, don't be such a drama queen. Jesus, you're worse than Peter. Don't worry your pretty little head, princess; I'll fix you right up. Be over in a couple hours, tops."

Stiles hung up and Jackson was at a loss. What was he supposed to do for _hours_ , with this body? He couldn't go out anywhere, certainly, and he didn’t want to try his morning workout, in case he couldn’t do it anymore.

But Jackson stopped his pacing and stood in the center of his room. Strangely, somehow Stilinski's nonchalance had relaxed him out of the sheer terror he'd been feeling. Knowing that _he_ was the one behind it made him feel confident it would get fixed because he knew from personal experience Stiles was _barely_ competent at magic and Jackson would be shocked if he managed to cause lasting damage. 

With that thought, Jackson breathed deep. But he had never been good at waiting. He contemplated disguising himself and going over to Stilinski's house to harass him in person, but he couldn't bear the thought of leaving the sanctuary of his room, not like this. 

Anyway, would any of his clothes even _fit_ him? He reached underneath his protruding gut and felt the tight waistband of his boxer briefs cut into his skin. Jackson reached down to pull on it. It barely moved, barely stretched further at all, and Jackson let it snap back, hard and biting against his flesh. 

Jackson felt a little thrill at that. At first he figured it was the familiar sensation of pleasure-pain, but absently his fingers began to stroke the plush fold of fat flesh above his underwear. It was so soft, so sensitive, and sent involuntary shivers down the length of his body. 

He went for the mirror again, but even though he knew what to expect now, it still shocked a gasp out of him. 

He was _huge_. 

Jackson was _fat_ , all over, all the way from his chubby thighs to his arms, his ass, and most prominently, his big fat belly. He felt profound _disgust_ , but also something else. Something deep and primal he always tried to ignore.

It felt like a mirrored version of the sick, shameful rush he'd felt back when Stiles came home packed with the freshman _fifty_ , and suddenly Jackson was hyperventilating, hands mindlessly gripping his stomach.

And it felt, it felt, _incredible_. 

He pinched some of the fat between his fingers, ashamed and confused and infuriated and _hopelessly_ turned on.

Jackson gripped his belly and shook it, morbidly fascinated by the sight.

The bounce of the extra flesh on his stomach pulled lust out of Jackson, ruthlessly, and if he'd wanted to ignore it this time - with his cock hardening in his too- tight underwear, and flabby body on display, coating his body in amazing heavy softness - he couldn't do it. 

Jackson felt the hot flush under the skin of his chest, and his newly puffy, sensitive nipple hardened as he grazed it accidentally-on-purpose. Jackson shivered, bringing his fingers to play with the extra flesh, cupping them like breasts, but they were softer, doughier than the ones he was used to and the sensation made his dick pulse. 

His hands traced down his big, round belly and gripped it at both sides, shaking it roughly, smacking it repeatedly, until he was red and crying out from the feeling of the harsh slaps making his gut jiggle. 

What was he _doing_? He had just gotten cursed for fuck's sake, was he really going to jerk off _now_?

_Yes_ , he absolutely was, because he couldn't stop, couldn't take his hands off his fat body or keep himself from palming his dick through his underwear, too eager. 

He dug his thumbs under the elastic of his boxer briefs, inching them down his hips, over his ass and down meaty thighs, finally kicking them off across the floor. 

Jackson drew in a breath as he gripped his cock tight. The base was covered a little by the padding of flesh at his groin and he had no idea why he liked that but he _did_ , and he liked the feeling of his big heavy belly brushing the head of his dick on every upstroke, the jiggle of his body as he moved. The sight of it in the mirror was sinful, forbidden, and he had never felt _anything_ so arousing.

His pace was furious, rushed and crazed to match his mood. Jackson's breath was coming out in harsh pants and he brought his other hand up to toy with his belly button while he stroked. 

The buildup was practically nonexistent, the session too short, too frantic and without finesse, but he felt pulsing waves of heat overcome his body in a way he'd never really felt before. It was _intense_ , like it was adding something to sex that he'd been missing all his life. His orgasm hit him hard, making his knees buckle under his weight, and he trembled with the release, shooting all over the bottom of his gut, his hand, the mirror. 

A groan ripped out of Jackson's throat, and he stumbled on shaky legs to collapse onto his bed, sucking in gasping breaths. 

His phone beside him vibrated against the mattress. Blearily, Jackson looked at the message. It was from Stiles. 

_Think I know what went wrong. Should be able to fix it. I'm omw to rescue you, don't fret_

Jackson wiped his hands on the sheets and sent back - _You do realize this is all your fault regardless, don't you_.

_Details_.

If Stiles could really reverse it, just like that, he'd have a difficult time feigning anger at the situation because Jackson was riding the airy high of what was maybe the most satisfying orgasm he's ever had.

Jackson had _liked it_.

**Author's Note:**

> Spoiler alert: Stiles likes it too ~
> 
> Also, hey you should come find me on [tumblr](http://chubstilinski.tumblr.com).


End file.
